Salad Days
by My Misguided Fairytale
Summary: If one only looks forward, they will miss the people walking beside them. / AU Soarshipping Dark Magician Girl x Spiria


Salad Days

Genres: Fantasy, Supernatural

Summary: If one only looks forward, they will miss the people walking beside them. / AU Soarshipping Dark Magician Girl x Spiria

A/N: Written for the YGO Fanfiction Contest, Season 10, Round Ten, with the pairing of Soarshipping (Dark Magician Girl x Spiria). This is a total AU, and takes place in a world that isn't quite medieval but definitely takes its cues from a pre-technology/industry basic fantasy setting…but with Duel Monsters!

This story also marks my fiftieth Contest entry! I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

_**Salad Days**_

"My salad days, when I was green in judgment, cold in blood…" – Cleopatra, _Antony and Cleopatra, Act I Scene V_

* * *

Mana's hat slips over her eyes as she struggles to keep her balance perched in the upper branches of a Mulberry tree. With her legs resting on two different branches and a spell-book open on her lap, she has only one hand free to keep herself from falling, the other clutching her staff.

Pushing the brim of her hat back up, she looks out over the countryside; no houses are in sight this way, facing away from the town, but a thin dirt road winds its way up the hills. Mana can see a coach traveling towards town, far off in the distance. She flips another few pages until she comes to the spell she wants.

"Here we go. One rainfall spell coming up—this should really solve the drought we've been having."

The writing on the pages is almost as ancient as the pages themselves, and she stumbles over the pronunciation of a few of the symbols, reading the incantation and trying her best to maintain both her focus and her balance as she feels the magic swirl within her.

It's not an entirely foreign feeling, but still one that she can never truly get used to. It's pulled along her body, up her spine and down her veins to draw from her fingertips, channeled by the staff clutched tightly in her right hand. The temperature in the air around her falls as the clouds begin to thicken and fill with vapor.

She's created whirlwinds in glass bottles and sprouted seeds in one grand, flowering moment, but nothing on this large a scale. Rain begins to fall, lightly at first, stretching as far as she can see. Mana gives a whoop of triumph before sudden realization grips her and she shoves the book under the fabric of her shirt to protect it from the rain.

The water soaks her hair and clothes, slipping beneath her wide collar to run down her neck, and she berates herself for her stupidity and lack of foresight—of _course _a rain spell would create rain, and of course she could have planned for the half-mile trek back to her small shop on the very outskirts of town. The wet branches are slippery, and she slips and falls on her way down, landing ungracefully on her feet, the brim of her hat falling once more over her eyes.

As she runs she kicks up mud and water from quick-forming puddles, and when she finally returns to her shop, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it, she glances down at her feet and legs and grimaces, knowing that to walk any further through the shop would be to track in all of the mud coating the bottom and sides of her boots. An additional lack of foresight—if she would have cleaned the bookshop, there would have been a clear path back to her quarters where she could have washed off the mud.

She kicks the shoes off, leaving them to rest against the door. She creates her own path, tiptoeing around stacks of books and papers, sliding the spell-book free from its confines in her shirt and replacing it in its proper place on one of the many bookshelves lining the room. Moving towards the window, she pulls the heavy curtain back to watch the rain pelt against the rippled glass.

The lamp still burns brightly from its glass covering, high up on the outside wall next to the door. It's her way of letting customers know the shop is open—not that she really has to worry about customers very often—but turning it off would mean going back out into the rain, so she leaves it be and disappears into the back rooms to wash the mud from her legs and dry off her hair. A basin of water and a few towels later, she is somewhat clean again, although her hair still sticks to her face and neck, damp and coarse to the touch.

"Perhaps I should find a drying spell for this," she muses aloud, straightening when she hears a shuffling noise coming from the main storeroom. Mana heads back, her first thought that something must have fallen, but the second she walks inside she knows immediately what is out of place.

A stranger stands with her back to Mana, perusing the stacks of books.

"Can I help you?"

She turns as Mana speaks, and even from one glance she makes Mana feel shabby—her rain-dampened hair and wrinkled clothes next to the stranger's polished dress in black and purple, topped with a cape, the hood down.

"I knocked," she says, with an indifference that suggests even that was a favor to Mana. The stranger is turning an astrolabe around in her hands, and sets it back in its place on an already cluttered desk before lifting a slim book from a stack beside it, flipping the pages.

Admiration is soon overshadowed by suspicion; even discounting the weather and the late hour, customers are rare, and normally the few she gets appear as if they have wandered in almost by accident. This woman, however, looks like no one Mana has ever seen before, and it's that foreignness above anything else that prompts her distrust.

"You have a lot of spell-books." She says it as more of a question than a statement, and she replaces the book in her hands and picks up another. "But I do not see any books that are magical themselves?"

"I have a few." Mana does not know what else to say, but she cannot help her eyes straying to the lowest shelf on a corner bookcase.

"You can read them? Use them?"

"Yes," Mana replies. This time, her eyes stray to the muddy boots still propped up against the door and the layer of dust clinging to the curtains and the window ledges. "What business do you have with me?"

"I? None. The kingdom, however, has plenty."

Warning bells sound in her head. "What?"

The kingdom is too far away to have any impact on life in the small village, barely on the fringes of its control. How could they have even heard of her small book-shop, let alone have any business with her?

"I am one of the Royal Guards."

Mana's legs buckle beneath her, and she has to clutch onto the doorframe to keep from crumpling onto the floor. Something like a whimper leaves her mouth.

"Well, I've had a good life." The words sound choked, even to her ears, and she cringes and closes her eyes as the stranger reaches out towards her.

Seconds tick by, and she is still alive. Opening her eyes, she sees that the woman was actually setting the book back down on the desk, regarding Mana with a bemused expression.

"…Aren't you going to kill me?"

"Why? Would you like me to?" The path to the corner bookshelves is treacherous, but she picks her way around the obstacles in her path, studying the book spines on the shelves as she passes.

"Um. No?" Mana's legs are still refusing to support her, but as she looks up at the stranger and even more seconds tick by, she begins to grow more hopeful. "But…you're a Royal Guard! All of the rumors…"

"I put little stock in rumors. What do they say about us?" She sounds amused now, and while her attention is focused on the books, Mana knows the stranger is still monitoring her every move.

"That you do not let anyone see you and live to tell about it! That you are so fearsome and dangerous that no one would even _think _to cross you! People tell their children the Guards will get them if they don't eat their vegetables! If—if you really are a member of the Royal Guard, then you must be here for something important."

She sighs, and gestures towards the books. "I can't read any of this. I am looking for one book in particular—the _Majerius Maleficarum_. Is it here?"

Mana draws herself up to her feet and bolsters her courage, making her way closer to the shelves and kneeling again to look at the lowest books. "That sounds familiar, but I'm not sure."

She pulls out a few books, reading the titles before putting them back. "I have so many!" She laughs, feeling emboldened just from having the books in her grasp. "I notice you didn't refute any of the things I said about the Guards."

"Defusing these rumors would ruin our reputation." It is delivered so deadpan that Mana cannot tell if she is joking. "And that wouldn't be beneficial to the King."

"Ah. I see." She shifts more books aside, searching for the oldest ones in her collection.

"You're a magician, yes? A mage?" Her nose wrinkles in distaste. "Must not be very good if you're not in the employ of the kingdom."

Mana doesn't have an answer for that, but she copies the woman's expression, curling her lips and trying her best scowl. "I'm self-employed. You can't say that." Her expression turns thoughtful. "But your King can. That means I've got something in common with him! What do you think about that?"

"I'm starting to wonder if there isn't another magical shop in this town that I missed."

"How unkind, even after I found the book you wanted." She pulls the _Maleficarum_ from the shelf, so heavy that she must hold it with both hands.

"My name's Mana," she offers, and gets no response. "This is the part where you tell me your name."

"Spiria." They both stare at the book, and Mana pulls at the spot that latches the cover together.

"Now I know why I forgot this was here. I've never been able to get inside it. Even opening this book requires a special key and a great deal of magic—"

She produces a thin key with comb-like spines on a long, silver chain and passes it to Mana without a word.

"And the magic?"

Spiria looks at her pointedly, and Mana sighs, inserting the key into the lock and moving her hands to rest over the cover. "Well, don't blame _me _if something goes wrong."

The same feeling overtakes her as she channels the magic through her body and into the book, but as the latch clicks open Spiria lightly pushes her aside, opening the cover and flipping the pages.

"Do you know what you're looking for?" Mana asks.

The pages are thicker than normal paper, ragged on the edges, the ink faded. It is difficult to see just what is on the pages, with Spiria's body blocking her view. She stops, suddenly, and presses the pages back.

"One's missing here," Spiria says, and uses one hand to mark the place while she continues to flip the pages, counting them under her breath. "And another here. Two pages are gone."

"I didn't know." Fearful again, Mana takes a step back as Spiria closes the book, just barely catching sight of the torn edges before the cover once again locks. "I have no idea where they'd be. They must have been ripped out before it was mine."

"And how long has the _Maleficarum _been in your possession?"

"Almost as long as I can remember, I suppose," she says. "My master taught me to read and cast spells, but disappeared when I was very young. All of this was his. I've kept everything."

Spiria looks thoughtfully out the window, where the rain continues to fall in a calm, even rhythm against the windowpanes. "I thought this might be the case."

"Wait—you _what?_"

"The missing pages. A group of bandits possessed that key—I've been hunting them for weeks. Luckily, their caravan was mired in mud from the rainstorm, and I was able to catch up with them. They implied that they were trying to trade with another bandit group for the book, but I had information that the _Maleficarum _was here. Rather, I believe the thieves have the missing pages, but have convinced everyone they are in possession of the _Maleficarum_. I do not know for sure, though."

"Why don't you just go back and ask them?"

"Need I remind you of the reputation of the Royal Guards?" Spiria tucks the book back in its place on the shelf, rearranging the others around it into neat rows. "They will speak no more."

"Oh." Mana hopes that will not become her fate; she rather likes speaking. "You know, I cast the spell that caused that rainstorm."

"Did you?" For once, true surprise shows through Spiria's veneer. "Then for that I am indebted to you."

"What? Then don't kill me and consider us even."

Spiria fiddles with the key in her hands, twisting the chain around one wrist before tucking it into her sleeve. "I already said I had no reason to. You really know nothing about us, Mana? For the Guards, honor is everything. I am honor-bound to repay the debt I have towards you. It is not something I can forget."

"Oh." Her head spins now, but for an entirely different reason. She doesn't need to be told how much power that grants her, but Mana can think of nothing that she would ask of her. "What will you do now?"

"I will locate the group of thieves that are rumored to have the pages. I have been charged with taking the _Maleficarum _back to the King so it can be protected properly. It's a very powerful book—we've probably been searching for it as long as you've had it."

"I thought you put no stock in rumors," she says. "Do you even know where they are? Do you know how to find them?"

"No. But I will. I cannot return until I have completed this task."

"Let me help you." The words are out of her mouth before she even realizes she's spoken them, and more follow to clarify. "I mean, you owe me, right? And I want to help. Not for you or some King I've never met—it's my book, and I should help get those pages back."

Spiria's sigh now is louder than all the rest, but she says, "I cannot stop you if that is what you want. As long as you don't get in the way or waste my time, you may assist me in recovering the pages. I assume you have some sort of a plan?"

"Not really."

"How helpful you are. Well, we can start by gathering information in the nearby towns," Spiria says. "Can you leave this place? Will your books be safe?"

She doubts anyone would even notice her absence, but she can cast spells to hide anything valuable. "I think you mean _I'll _be gathering information. You stand out too much."

"You may have a point," she says. "Gather your things, then. We'll leave as soon as you are ready. I do not know when we will return, but we _will _return. And we will be successful."

* * *

The village Mana lives in is so small it really only has one proper bar, but the town Spiria takes them to first has at least three, taverns that serve gossip with their drinks, and enough foreigners milling around that Mana's appearance is hardly odd as she slides more money across the counter, exchanging it for the name of a patron in a dark corner booth and a promised introduction.

Disguise spells are hardly her forte, but she has exchanged her mage's robes for some of Spiria's clothes; even in new clothes she feels like a completely different person, although she feels naked without her hat. The staff is gone, too, in Spiria's custody along with the few spell-books and possessions she has brought.

"Sounds like you're looking for the Red Hand," the man in the booth tells her. "They call themselves that 'cause they all have a red mark on their right hands."

"Ah." Mana nods along in earnest. "And where can I find them?"

"There's a_ rumor_," he says, leaning forward, "that they've got some kind of a hideout in the next town to the north. Too close for my taste, but as long as they don't have any expansion plans I don't really care."

"Look for people with red hands in the north. Got it."

"Listen, missy, you shouldn't be getting involved with a group like that. Whatever business you have with them can't be worth losing your life over." He is slurring his words now, speaking so quickly that Mana has a hard time making them out. She supposes his concern must be real; he's ignoring the drink she bought him, after all, but the price is far outweighed by the information he's giving her.

Mana grins and figures she could start a few rumors of her own. "It's the Red Hand that doesn't want to tangle with me! You want to know something? I took out a bandit caravan a few days ago just south of here. I want an audience with the Red Hand, and I figured getting rid of their competition would put me on the map."

He stares at her, slack-jawed, and she continues.

"Now, don't be telling that to everybody, understand? I don't want to use my magic in a place like this—not when there are so many people who could get hurt."

"Magic? You're a—"

"Keep your voice down, do you want the whole town to know?" Mana's own voice grows louder as she tries to hush him, doing her best to keep her grin from spreading. Spiria would be proud of her efforts.

"First they ask you to start fixing stuff, and _then _they start asking you to destroy things instead—"

She rambles more than she has to, but the effect is more than she could have hoped for. Certain that half the bar heard snatches of their conversation and the other half knows who she's looking for—and that she'll pay money for information—she considers it a job well done and heads back to the inn where Spiria waits.

"They call themselves the Red Hand," she tells Spiria. "Because they mark their hands in red. Sounds a little unoriginal to me."

"Then it should be easy to find one of them." Spiria pauses over her dinner, delivered from the inn's kitchens. Mana's stomach growls, and she wishes she'd had more to eat in the tavern beyond a chicken leg, and that had been a few hours ago. "The fact that they choose to be so easily identifiable makes them dangerous."

"I hope you don't mind, but I took credit for your bandits," Mana casually adds. "It _was _my rainstorm, after all. I figure spreading a few rumors of my own will help speed up the process."

Spiria's fork clatters to the plate. "Consult me before you do anything like that again. This is never going to work if we cannot both work together in unity. That means I need to know what's going on—and not _after _it's already happened."

Mana thinks mid-speech that she should feel a little more apologetic, but instead she concentrates on Spiria's seriousness, her sense of pride, and thinks of ways to replicate them herself. Mana is good at getting information from bar staff and patrons, but in the heat of the moment, when faced with _true _risk or threat it would be Spiria's level-headedness that would be most beneficial.

"Mana? Are you listening to me?"

"Of course." Her answer is automatic. "We'll find them to the north of here, or so the rumors say."

"Hmm. You put too much faith in such a flighty thing. But if it's true, we should leave quickly. I'll pack our things." The untouched fork still sits on the plate, resting in slowly congealing gravy.

"No. We'll go slowly," Mana says. "We've got to make sure our _own _rumors travel faster than we do."

* * *

All of the taverns look the same to Mana regardless of location, but each seem to have their own distinct smells and tastes—the food is fresher here, for one, and spicier, and the people seem to be more boisterous. It's almost enough to make her forget her purpose for coming here tonight, but soon she finds herself deep in conversation with one of the staff, leaning across the counter to hear his words, whispered in a room where the men and women on either side of her are shouting.

"I can't tell you that," the man says with a wink. "I certainly can't tell you that there's an abandoned house by the edge of town—rumor says it's the Red Hand's secret hideout. Or it's haunted by spirits."

"Spirits," she repeats, dully. The people here seem to be more superstitious than most—on the way in they spotted little effigies on the roadside, winged angels and creatures meant for blessings and fortune. "Still, thanks for the information. I'll try it out."

"If you can wait a few minutes, I can take you there."

She debates going to see Spiria first, but decides that she can't pass up this opportunity. "Sure."

The man had been working behind the counter serving drinks, but as they leave he stops to grab his coat from a hook by the back wall, sliding his arms through the sleeves. "You'll be cold out there," he cautions. "You don't have anything else?"

When Mana shakes her head, he unwinds the scarf from around his own neck and passes it to her. With his gloves and thicker coat, she supposes he is still warmer than Mana with her thin cloak and borrowed scarf. The color is beautiful but the wool is itchy, and as they walk she notices how quickly the streets thin out; when they reach the end of the line of small homes on the main street, they are the only two out on the road at all.

"How much farther?" she asks.

"Oh, it's still a ways off. Just out of sight of these buildings here." Their pace was brisk, the walk itself enough to keep her warm. The road began to narrow, and after another minute of walking he came to a stop.

"I'm sorry, but I won't go any further. If there really are spirits…you understand. It's just behind those trees there, at the bottom of the hill. You can't miss it. If you see anyone…well, I'd hope that they don't see you."

Mana doesn't really understand, and she hovers on the edge of the path long after he leaves her side, hesitating before finally plunging forward through the undergrowth, her shoes cracking twigs with every step, the noise like a ricochet in the near-silence.

She wishes Spiria was there. Mana wants her by her side, walking into what very well could be the Red Hand's hideout.

The trees lead to a clearing, but before she can cross the ring of trees she spots the building, a small, squat structure made of wood covered in a light colored plaster. Its disuse is immediately apparent, from the way the roof sinks to the overgrown grass around its walls.

Above her head a bird caws, and suddenly another man drops down beside her from the tree above, landing with a soft _thud_. Mana tries not to let her surprise show on her face; the face of this stranger is impossible to read, covered by a black cowl from his neck to his nose.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" After she asks, he nods. "Prove it."

He lifts his hands, both gloved, and twists his wrists in the air, back and forth. _Gloves_. "Oh." Another lack of foresight on her part.

"You seem to be doing a lot of looking into our organization for someone not interested in the Red Hand."

"I'm not," she answers quickly.

"I'm not convinced you really mean that, magician girl."

The casual, flippant tone she can forgive, but the nickname is a little harder to shake off. "I have a name, you know."

"And I don't care. I only need to know the names of my comrades," he says. "Not civilians or foreigners." He hardly makes a sound as he adjusts his posture to lean against the tree trunk, shifting to get comfortable.

An idea begins to form in her mind. "And if I…wanted to join you?"

"If you want to join us, you'll have to complete a task for us first." He reaches into one pocket and removes a folded sheet of paper, handing it over. Mana takes it, lifting open the corners, struggling to read the thick, messy print.

By the time she looks back up, he has disappeared.

"I guess you made quite an impression," Spiria tells her. "They typically only recruit the strongest and the wisest."

"Was there an insult in there somewhere, or was that a compliment? I can never tell." Mana leans back against the wall, glad that this inn seemed to be nicer than the last. It was warmer, at least; she had started a fire with a small bit of magic earlier, and it blazed merrily in the fireplace. Watching the flames dance was a good alternative to taking in Spiria's grand disapproval.

"What do they want you to do?" she asks.

"Magic tricks. They want me to flood their river."

"That's senseless," Spiria remarks. "Who knows what that could harm—"

"A _controlled _flood," Mana adds. "I'll give them what they want without doing extra damage to the town. Tomorrow morning will give me the best visibility—I'll want to climb up onto the roof, casting such comprehensive spells always work better if you have a good visual of the area that will be affected."

Mana reaches out for her spell-book, propped on a table just out of reach. Spiria leans over to hand it to her; already their room has become comparable to the mess that was Mana's shop, with things piled high on tables or any open floor-space, any careful organization shot to pieces by haphazard clutter.

"I'll memorize the incantation so I don't need to have the book with me," she says, not looking up from the pages. "We should have some kind of signal. I'll try to get information about the pages—if I spot them, I'll set a storm over the building."

"You're learning." Approval is a rare thing to find coming from Spiria, but Mana's concentration is so focused on the book that she almost misses it. "I've known very few magicians in my days, but you are one of the best."

"Well, that's not the worst, unless you've only known two magicians." Mana looks up from her book with a smile. "Tell me about _the_ best."

"He was a colleague of mine for some time. He was a very talented magician, but what was even more impressive was his self-discipline…you may not understand, but magical books—not just books of spells, but true books made of _magic_—are nearly impossible to control. He did it without complaint or temptation. A true credit to the kingdom."

She shifts to sit cross-legged. "That sounds more like a eulogy. Did he die?"

"I don't know. He left so suddenly, and we tried to chase him for years before we gave up. He's the sort of man who can't be found if he doesn't want to be." Spiria notices the rumble of thunder outside, and says, "Perhaps you won't even be needed tomorrow."

"That would be convenient. But I'm not nearly that lucky." She reaches up to her head before realizing that her hat isn't there; it's halfway across the room, draped over one bedpost. Funny, she hasn't even noticed its absence until that moment.

"No, you're not," Spiria agrees. She could tell Mana the opposite, but it was talent, not luck, that got them this far. Ability, not accident, that will ensure their success.

"Are you looking forward to going back?" Mana's voice is small as she asks, hesitant and more thoughtful. One hand fusses with the current page, smoothing the corners and thumbing the edges.

"To the kingdom? Yes, of course I have thought about it." Her realization is belated that she did not answer the question. She wonders if Mana noticed. Of course she did. "When I go back, it will be with no regrets. Everywhere I go, I only look forward."

Still, it was not outright, but there was an answer in there somewhere. Mana returns to her reading, resisting the urge to mumble the incantation; speaking it at all would set it in motion, and she has no desire to cause a flood in their room.

She does not want to agree with Spiria, although she has trouble putting her exact beliefs into words. If one only looks forward, she decides, then they can only follow others or be followed themselves.

If one only looks forward, they will miss the people walking beside them.

* * *

Rain falls in a heavy curtain, over the cobblestone streets and down roofs built strong enough for snow. Her hat is perched back on her head, its brim keeping the worst of it from reaching her face, although its odd design still sends rain falling down her neck, soaking her clothes and chilling her fingers and toes.

She is met at the doors to the hideout by several more Red Hand members in dark cowls, gloves obscuring any sign of their membership. That more than anything drives her curiosity, but Mana's focus is on the task at hand, and she approaches it seriously, counting the number of faces she sees, the exits in the building, looking for any sign of their leader or a hierarchical leadership.

"We meet again, Magician Girl." It's the same man as before, the one at the tavern who'd led her there in the first place. Who'd given her a scarf, marked her for the others to sniff her out. She reverses her opinion of him on the spot.

Let them call her that; better that they don't know her name.

She clutches her staff in her right hand, and feels the familiar stirring of magic within her.

"The boss would like to meet you," he tells her. "Most of us have never met a real magician before. Follow me."

There are a few small antechambers off of a small hallway leading from the main room, and he stops before the first, knocking light with the back of one hand.

"Your knock would be louder if you took the gloves off," she suggests.

"Yes it would." He tugs it off with his teeth, displaying the back of his hand as he knocks again. Even in the dim light, she can see it clearly—she had thought the red mark would have been made with clay, or maybe a kind of semi-permanent dye—but what she sees is the grisly mark of an improperly healed, crude burn. The red comes from the puckered, marred skin, ridged where the burn reintegrates back to smooth flesh. She cannot take her eyes away from it.

"You may enter." The voice from inside is oddly accented, pitched high but so weak that she has to strain to even hear it.

The man inside isn't covered up like the others, but he hides in the shadows of the room, itself barely lit save for a few candle stubs and the wan light coming in from a tiny, rippled-glass window.

"You are…the magician?" he asks in the same high-pitched, odd voice. When he walks, it is more of a slump, leading with one shoulder.

"Yes." She gets her first glimpse of him when he crosses a patch of light—his skin is tinted nearly gray, pallid and unhealthy, something the product of sickness. "If I am to help you, I would like to know if the Red Hand has any spell-books that I might—"

"My spells are not for your eyes," he says, and lurches back into the shadows.

"But you have spells." It is all the clarification she needs.

"I would have you cast a spell for me."

She brings the staff down to the ground, the sizzle and glow of the magic masking the true purpose of the spell. Outside, a storm cloud grows, hair-thin lightning cracking across the sky and thunder rumbling more like a dim complaint than an assertion. It will be enough.

Inside, the man stumbles forward, his face changing as the magic leaves the staff; he is rapt, and when it ends he looks almost pained.

"Again. More magic. Can you not feel it? The very air changes…"

Whatever sickness afflicting him must affect both his body and his mind. On a closer glance, Mana believes he might even be nearly blind, his eyes gray and clouded just like the rest of his body.

The stone cracks around them with such force Mana has to wonder if somehow her storm has gotten out of hand and swept the building from its foundation, the roof from the walls. Instead, she sees an angel hovering above them, clad in purple and black, with thick white wings spread out behind her in the most graceful arc.

"Spiria?" She barely recognizes the woman in front of her. The wings, she realizes, must have been hidden behind the cloaks she always wears, and Mana feels like for the first time she is truly seeing Spiria. Beside Mana, the tavern worker falls to his knees, staring up at Spiria. Tears run down his face, and unable to look any longer, he buries his face in his hands and presses his forehead to the floor.

"I didn't expect you so soon," Mana says. "Did you even wait for my signal? What happened to working together in unity?"

"I don't believe in wasting time." As she shrugs, the highest feathers ruffle.

Suddenly, it hits her. "The effigies! If they see you, they will think you are one of their angels!"

"First, the pages." Spiria turns her attention towards the leader, still hunched against the wall, trying to stay in the last patch of shadows he can. "You have them, don't you? The _Majerius Maleficarum. _Give them to me."

He reacts the same as the other man when he catches sight of Spiria, sinking towards the ground, his arms shaking. A piece of paper, folded, is withdrawn from a front jacket pocket, and he tosses it towards her.

With the roof cracked, the rainwater pours in through the cracks, dripping onto the floor. Spiria seizes the piece of paper, unfolding and studying it.

"This is a fake," she announces, and holds it out for Mana to see.

"How do you know?"

"Watch. The writing is coming off in the rain." Even as they stand, they can see the ink running, the rainwater washing the paper clean. "On pages written with magic, the writing _moves_. It would not be undone by something such as this."

She turns back towards the leader. "The _real_ pages. Now."

His hand trembles, but one angry flutter of Spiria's wings is enough to send him fumbling in his inner jacket pocket. He still holds it tightly clenched in his hands, refusing to set it down or toss it in their direction.

"Magical books can drive a person mad just from carrying or reading it." Spiria's voice is low, but there is no pity there, only a factualness belied just barely by the downturned slant of her mouth. "He is long past the point of madness. Him and his followers both."

"I'll take the paper, then." Mana steps forward, and before Spiria can stop her takes the paper from the leader's hands, pulling with force. "It won't break, right?" She tugs it loose.

"Remember, it was ripped out of the book. It's not indestructible."

"Right." Sheepish, she smoothes out the page and studies it, her eyes widening when the script begins to move, the spell altering before her eyes.

"Can you handle it?" Spiria asks.

"Yes. I can." If the other pages had been so close to her for so many years, she knows holding a single page in her hands will not harm her now. She folds it up again and tucks it in a pocket of her cloak.

"There was only one." Spiria says what they both are thinking, glancing once more at the man huddled against the wall, offering prayers to whatever angel figure they believe Spiria to be. "There's still one page out there. And we don't know where it is."

"Would you like to know what was on that page? It was a fairly simple spell," Mana says. "Flight."

* * *

They return to Mana's small village, where she tucks the loose page back inside the cover of the _Maleficarum _before locking the book once more.

"I've been thinking," she says, "the other page could be with my master. Is he…?"

"The same man from my story? Yes." Spiria makes no attempt to hide the truth now. "We were Guards together. Perhaps he means for you to be the one to find him where we have failed."

"If the page is safe, does it matter where it is?" Mana replaces the book—lowest shelf, surrounded by the others in a neat row. "If it is with him, I can trust him to keep it."

She looks up at Spiria, tilting her head. "What is it?"

"It's just…I look at you, and I see myself, five, six years ago or more. I see someone small and young and alone, still learning. But then I realize that I'm _still _that person, and who I am on the outside is no more an illusion than one of your spells."

"But you're not alone," Mana says. "Not anymore. Stay. Stay with me?"

"I can't. My responsibilities—"

"Then I will simply have to get you in my debt again, and _order_ you to stay." Her voice breaks at the end; she would never be able to forgive herself for such a thing, although if it was the only way to keep Spiria there she might very well do it. She knew if Mana asked it of her, Spiria would not refuse, if her honor was at stake. It would not be sincere, but it would still be there. It would be real enough for her.

"My job was to protect the _Maleficarum_ and reunite its pages. I suppose as long as one is still missing, I must stay with it."

"Very roundabout. Are you saying you'd stay with a book, but not with me?" Mana pouts, the effect ruined by the smile threatening to surface.

"You could not be more wrong." She sets down the paperweight she was fiddling with, and reaches for one of Mana's hands instead. "It's a nice day. Let's go outside."

"You know, I cast the spell that made it this way. Perfect and cloudless."

Spiria stops at the front door to shed her cloak. Outside, the front lamp is burned down to ash; neither have given a thought to restarting it.

"Let's go flying," she says.

**End.**

* * *

Notes:

1) _Salad Days _is a phrase coined by Shakespeare in _Antony and Cleopatra _and basically means what the quote describes; it's a metaphor for being in a "green" or young judgment.

2) The setting in this story is based off that of the iPhone game _Book of Heroes_ (making Mana's village Glenfort and the northern town Stonehaven? =D ?) which I love to pieces. The _Majerius Maleficarum _name was taken from the _Bookworm _quest line. Hey, I've written _Dragonvale _fic, so I wanted to write _Heroes _fic at some point, too xD

3) Implied, the Red Hand leader was Diabound. The Dark Magician, of course, was Mana's mentor and Spiria's colleague.

4) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your reviews.

~Jess


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